It was a chance in ten thousand. We pawned stuff to get there. Well,
Paul played like a god. Sbarovitch was quite overcome. He swore he would
compose something especially for Paul. We had visions of playing before
the Czar.
VERA
But what happened?
JEAN
What happened? One night a woman called on Paul at the hotel. He went
down, not knowing who it was or anything about her. He said afterward that
she started in flattering him and asking him to play for her some time....
Then Sbarovitch rushed in, seizing the woman and cursing Paul with
mouthfuls of Slavic hate. So _that_ dream ended!
VERA
But why? Was it Sbarovitch's wife?
JEAN
No, worse luck--it was his mistress. Ah, you can't imagine the re-action
from such disappointments! The long, slow warming to the full possibility
of the occasion, until the artist's mind and body become one leaping
flame--and then the sudden fall into icy water. It takes months to work up
to the same pitch again.... And then Rome.
VERA
What, again?
JEAN
Oh, yes. Again. This time--for a wonder everything went smoothly.
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